


Sure As the Stars Shine

by carolinecrane



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-08
Updated: 2011-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-14 14:23:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinecrane/pseuds/carolinecrane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt finds an unlikely ally at the New Directions Christmas party.  Written as a pinch hit for the Puckurt Chrismukkah fest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sure As the Stars Shine

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Pewne, jak gwiazdy na niebie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/641528) by [carietta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carietta/pseuds/carietta)



> Spoilers through 2x10.

When Finn called and said they were having some kind of surprise Christmas party for Mr. Schuester, and that everybody wanted Kurt there, he’d been excited. Happy and flattered to be included, even though he wasn’t a member of New Directions anymore. So he didn’t mind leaving Dalton a few days early, even though it meant saying goodbye to Blaine a little sooner than planned.

He’d expected everyone to be happy to see him, expected the girls to hug him and the guys -- most of them, anyway -- to clap him on the shoulder and ask him how it was going at his fancy rich kid school. He even expected the concerned looks when they thought he wouldn’t notice, like maybe he wasn’t quite as over the whole Karofsky thing as he pretended to be.

What he hadn’t expected was just how out of place he’d feel.

Oh, none of them meant to make him feel that way. He was just as surprised as anyone else to be so uncomfortable around the people who knew him better than anyone, save, of course, his father. But Rachel forbade them to discuss anything Glee-related, claiming that while she didn’t believe Kurt would intentionally betray them, there was no telling what might slip by accident. Which meant, of course, that she fully expected Kurt to stab them in the back at the first opportunity, and there was a part of Kurt that didn’t even blame her.

He’d been gone long enough that most of the current McKinley gossip was lost on him, and nobody wanted to bring up Karofsky and his continuing reign of terror. For his part, Kurt didn’t want to make any of them feel worse about his absence by telling them how nice it was to be somewhere he didn’t have to worry about slushies or body checks or swirlies. Most of them still dealt with that on a more or less regular basis, so it didn’t seem fair to brag about his wonderful new school anyway.

His wonderful new school where he was encouraged to be just like everyone else, to conform even more than he’d ever been expected to at McKinley and try even harder...not to be himself. He knew no one _meant_ to make him feel that way, but he’d gotten the message loud and clear the day Blaine told him to stop ‘trying so hard’.

Kurt sighed and watched the snow falling past Mr. Schuester’s kitchen window, turning the mug of hot cocoa someone -- Tina, he was fairly sure -- shoved into his hand at some point. It wasn’t so much ‘hot’ as ‘lukewarm’ cocoa at that point, but Kurt kept turning the mug in his hands anyway, just for something to do.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d sought refuge in Mr. Schuester’s kitchen, watching the snow fall and waiting for one of his friends to notice he wasn’t participating in Operation Cheer Up Schue or whatever they were calling it. Mercedes, surely, should have noticed by now, given the amount of time she spent texting him during his first couple weeks at Dalton, insisting that life at McKinley was completely dull without him and there was no way she’d forget who was her BFF.

It seemed from where he was standing that she was making do pretty well with Quinn and Santana. Not that Kurt begrudged her; he had Blaine, after all, and the other boys at Dalton were all really nice. But it wasn’t the same as having his girl by his side, and okay, maybe he deserved it for taking her for granted when he first became friends with Blaine, but surely she understood by now how hard it was for him not to know a single other gay person.

Now that he did...well, it was great, but it didn’t _matter_ as much as he’d expected it to. Or maybe it didn’t matter as much as it would if he were still enrolled at McKinley, where he’d always felt like he couldn’t blend in no matter what. At Dalton he blended just fine, and it was strange to find that that was the whole problem.

“Hey.”

Kurt started at the sound of the one voice he definitely _didn’t_ expect to hear, looking over in time to watch Puck look out the window at the snow falling outside. He couldn’t even begin to imagine why Puck of all people had noticed that he wasn’t gathered around the tree with the rest of them, telling stories about Christmases past and pretending this wasn’t the weirdest, most depressing Christmas celebration ever.

“Puck. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Puck shrugged and glanced over at him, but he was wearing one of those unreadable expressions that could mean he was brooding about his daughter or his time in prison, or maybe just thinking about dragging Kurt into Mr. Schuester’s bathroom for a swirlie, just for old times’ sake.

Kurt had never bothered to take the time to learn what Puck’s expressions meant. As far as he knew Puck had two settings: ‘bully’ mode and ‘dumb jock’ mode, and they looked pretty much the same. Anything more subtle than that was lost on Kurt, like the way Puck used to smile at Quinn during the five minutes they actually sort of dated, or even the frustrated frowns he directed at Mr. Schuester’s back whenever one of his song ideas got shot down.

Not that Kurt would know or anything.

“I don’t exactly have a whole lot of fun Christmas stories to share, you know?” Puck said, and Kurt blinked at him for a second before he remembered that he’d asked Puck a question.

He nodded and turned the mug in his hands again, seeking warmth that had long since faded. “I suppose not. In fact, I’m a little surprised you didn’t stage some sort of protest. Or at least demand a menorah.”

Puck let out a laugh that didn’t sound all that convincing, but one side of his mouth lifted in a strange sort of half-smile, and Kurt chose to call it a victory.

“Yeah, but Finn gets into all this stuff, and he was being all mopey and shit after that whole mess with Berry, so I figured I owed him. Plus, the tree smells pretty good.”

Kurt pictured those pine fresh air fresheners, the ones shaped like little trees. And it just figured that the perfect Christmas -- Hanukkah, whatever -- gift for Noah Puckerman was something you could buy at a gas station.

“Oh, right, I heard about your latest tryst with Rachel,” Kurt said. “So you’re determined to kiss everyone who’s ever had any feelings at all for Finn, is that it?”

“Haven’t kissed you yet, have I?”

Kurt’s head snapped up at that, cheeks burning and a biting remark on the tip of his tongue. He was trying to decide between “isn’t there some Cheerio somewhere you haven’t hit on today?” or the even more clever “ _that_ would do wonders for your reputation” when Puck leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of Kurt’s mouth. It was over before Kurt could do more than squeak a muffled protest, and when Puck pulled back again Kurt looked around, expecting the entire Glee club to be watching them, open-mouthed.

But no one was paying them any attention at all; they were all still gathered around the tree in the next room, singing that song from the Charlie Brown Christmas special, which was a shame, really, because his voice was perfect for that song.

“What are you doing?” Kurt hissed, pressing his fingers to his mouth, right over the spot where Puck’s lips had been.

“Hey, it was your idea."

“That wasn’t an invitation, you Neanderthal,” Kurt shot back. "It was a comment on your complete lack of class, though clearly subtlety is entirely lost on you.”

Puck laughed again, though it didn’t sound any more convincing the second time. Then he pointed above them, and for the first time Kurt looked up and realized he’d been standing under a sprig of mistletoe. Which he should have realized, because that was the only reason Puck would ever kiss him, unless maybe there was money at stake. Except it still didn’t really explain why Puck had _kissed him_ , and who hung mistletoe in the kitchen, anyway?

“So you really _are_ planning to kiss everyone that shows any interest whatsoever in Finn?” Kurt asked, mostly to distract Puck from the fact that his cheeks were still burning. “Because that could get Mr. Schuester in a lot of trouble.”

This time Puck’s laugh was genuine. It was...sort of nice to hear, in a weird way. Then again, this entire conversation had been completely weird, so it fit. Then he shrugged again and glanced over at Kurt, and Kurt told himself he was not blushing just because Puck was looking at him.

“That’s how I always make chicks feel better, you know, when they’re having guy problems or whatever. Guess I figured it might work on you too.”

“I’m not having guy problems,” Kurt said, which wasn’t exactly true, but Puck didn’t need to know about his latest unrequited crush.

“Yeah, I figured. I know how it feels, you know.”

“What?”

“Being gone and then coming back and feeling like you’re on the outside of everything.” Puck glanced over his shoulder at the sound of laughter from the other room, but if any of their friends had noticed their absence, they hadn’t thought enough of it to come looking for them yet. “It sucks. I mean, it goes away after awhile, sure, but not if you’re going back to your gay school.”

“It’s not a gay school,” Kurt corrected him automatically. “And of course I’m going back. I can’t count on the administration at McKinley to do anything about the Karofsky situation, that much they’ve made quite plain.”

“Yeah, sorry I can’t take care of that for you,” Puck said, and he sounded so sincere that for a second Kurt wondered if maybe he was just having some kind of elaborate hallucination. “I mean, I told Karofsky I’d give him a beat down if he pulled anything else, but it’s kind of an empty threat when you’re not around for him to do anything to, you know?”

“So I should come back to McKinley just so you can beat up Karofsky?” Kurt asked, and this time he laughed, because honestly, that made less sense than Puck kissing him.

“No. I mean, yeah, you should come back, but not because of that.”

Something about the way Puck was looking at him made Kurt’s pulse race a little. He could still feel Puck’s mouth brushing against his skin, barely even a kiss. _More like a promise,_ Kurt thought, and he would have rolled his eyes at the sentiment if he didn’t think Puck would notice and ask what his problem was.

“Why do you care?”

Puck shrugged again and Kurt couldn’t help wondering if he’d thought any of this through before he left the group to follow Kurt into the kitchen. “It’s kind of my fault you left.”

“How do you figure that?” Kurt asked, surprise making him forget the fact that this was clearly all a bizarre dream brought on by too many of Mr. Berry’s famous rum balls and the lack of sleep that came along with finals week. There was no other explanation for the fact that Puck was talking to him, let alone trying to cheer him up with his _mouth_ , though Kurt couldn’t say he was surprised that Puck thought making out was the cure for adolescent angst.

“I’m the one who sent you over there to check out the competition in the first place,” Puck said, and Kurt remembered for the first time that it really had been Puck who suggested Kurt visit Dalton. He hadn’t meant to do Kurt a favor, but in a way he had, and Kurt supposed maybe he should be grateful, in a weird way. “I just wanted you to stop talking about feathers; I didn’t know you were going to end up sleeping with the enemy or whatever.”

“I’m not...” Kurt paused, blushing hot and red all over again at the implication that he was doing anything at all with Blaine. “That’s not why I left. It didn’t have anything to do with you, surprisingly enough.”

It was kind of surprising, when Kurt stopped to think about it. For so long Puck had been the worst bully in school, the object of pretty much everyone’s daily terror. But he’d stopped being that guy a long time ago, and they weren’t friends or anything, but for awhile now Kurt had just thought of him as another member of New Directions. Not Puck-to-be-avoided-at-all-costs or Puck-who’s-going-to-ruin-my-new-Prada-shirt or Puck-Finn’s-awful-friend-and-why-does-Finn-like-him-anyway. Just...Puck, the guy with a decent mid-range voice and terrible taste in music.

And okay, sometimes he was Puck-who’s-kind-of-ridiculously-hot-when-he’s-singing-his-terrible-music, but Kurt would never admit that out _loud_ or anything. Besides, Puck would never look at _him_ the way he looked at the girls when he sang to them.

Except that Puck was kind of looking at him like that right now, and before Kurt could convince himself it wasn’t really happening, Puck was leaning in again and pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth. For a second they just stayed like that, mouths sort of pressed together but not really doing anything. And Kurt didn’t have a lot of experience, but even he knew that didn’t really count as a kiss.

Then Puck made a noise in the back of his throat that sent a shiver straight down Kurt’s spine, and he shifted until their mouths were fitted together. Kurt opened his mouth to ask what, exactly, Puck thought he was doing, but that turned out to be a bad idea while Puck was still kissing him, because as soon as his lips parted Puck groaned and slid his tongue along Kurt’s bottom lip.

And that was...okay, that was nice. Really, _really_ nice, nothing at all like the angry clash of teeth that was Karofsky’s mouth attacking him, and when Puck’s hand cupped the back of his neck to angle his head just a little, it felt nothing at all like the rough press of Karofsky’s fingers against his face.

Kurt gasped and pulled away and wiped at his mouth with the back of one hand, his other still clutching the long-cold hot cocoa. “Stop doing that.”

“Why? Do you have a boyfriend now or something?” Puck asked, as though that was the only reason he could think of that Kurt would have to object.

“No,” Kurt answered, and when Puck leaned a little closer Kurt took a step backwards. “But that doesn’t mean you can just go around kissing people without their consent.”

“So you’re not hooking up with that Blake dude?”

“Blaine. And no. We’re just friends.”

The way Puck looked at him when he said it made Kurt wonder suddenly if Puck had suffered some sort of undetected brain damage from all the fighting he’d done over the years. He’d heard that trauma to the brain could manifest in strange ways, and there wasn’t anything stranger than the straightest boy he knew kissing Kurt like he was actually _enjoying_ himself.

“What if you had somebody to hook up with here?” Puck was saying, and Kurt was so busy wondering about his mental well-being that it took a second for his words to sink in. “Would you come back then?”

“Is that what this is about?” Kurt asked, eyes narrowing and he cast another glance over his shoulder at the rest of his so-called friends, but none of them was peering into the kitchen to see if their plan was working. “Did you draw the short straw or something and end up having to try to seduce me back to McKinley? Because it’s not going to work, so you might as well stop embarrassing yourself.”

Puck shrugged -- _again_ \-- and reached up to rub at the back of his head with one hand. It wasn’t an awful look for him, Kurt decided; the just-kissed and kind of dumb blinking thing he had going on wouldn’t work for most people, but on Puck it was almost...charming. And Kurt had been lonely for far too long if he was starting to find _Puck_ charming just because he’d kissed Kurt a couple times.

“Maybe I’m just curious. I mean, I never really thought of you like that, until I saw you up on stage at Sectionals. I saw the way that dude looked at you when he was singing to you, and I guess it kind of pissed me off.”

“It’s called performing,” Kurt said, swallowing a rush of disappointment, only he wasn’t sure if he was disappointed that Blaine didn’t want him, or that Puck clearly didn’t even know why he was doing...whatever he was doing. “That’s all it was: a performance. And if it bothered you, that’s your problem. The Warblers are my team now.”

“I know that.”

Puck let out a frustrated sigh and ran his hand over his scalp, and Kurt found himself watching the progress of Puck’s fingers through his mohawk.

“Look, Hummel -- Kurt -- I want you to come back because I feel bad about sending you to those guys in the first place. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot since Sectionals, and the truth is...I just want you to come back.”

“I can’t. Even if I had a reason to...”

Kurt trailed off, and he definitely was _not_ hoping Puck would take the hint and supply him with a reason. He wasn’t even hinting, because he had a perfectly good unrequited crush on Blaine already, and despite the fact that apparently Puck was willing to...well, _requite_ this one, that didn’t mean Kurt was going to swoon and just run back to McKinley.

“Yeah, you can,” Puck said. He wasn’t offering Kurt any particularly good reasons, but he took a step forward and reached out to run his thumb along Kurt’s jaw, and that was kind of nice. “We could look out for you. _I_ could look out for you.”

“What are you saying, exactly?”

Puck let out a shaky laugh that somehow managed to sound more genuine than any of the other laughs Kurt had gotten out of him so far that night. “I have no fucking clue. But I kind of want to figure it out, you know?”

There was a part of Kurt that wanted to say that yes, he did know. There was a part of him that wanted to go back to McKinley even before Puck found him under the mistletoe in Schue’s kitchen and came on to him like it wasn’t against everything Kurt thought he knew about Puck. But there was still the issue of Karofsky, and no matter what Puck promised him, he couldn’t protect Kurt every second. No one could, not Coach Sylvester or Mr. Schue or any of his friends.

He couldn’t go back to living with that kind of daily fear, not just for the chance that Puck wouldn’t get bored and go back to chasing skirts once his curiosity was satisfied.

“Well, you can forget it,” he said, ignoring the way Puck’s expression darkened. “I’m not going to be your big gay experiment, Puck. Find somebody else to help you figure out whatever sexual identity crisis you’re going through.”

For a moment Kurt thought that was the end of the conversation. He assumed Puck would mutter something about prissy gay kids under his breath and go find someone else to harass. But a beat passed, then another and Puck didn’t walk away. He just stood there, _looking_ , like he was trying to make up his mind about something.

“Okay, so what if I do figure it out, and I still want to make out with you? Would you give me a shot then?”

Kurt’s heart skipped a beat, which was ridiculous, because this was _Puck_. Puck who was a really good kisser, not that that was a surprise or anything, considering how much practical experience he had. But the fact that he wanted to kiss Kurt was new, and the fact that he might be willing to jump through a few hoops for the chance to do it again...well, that knowledge sent warmth curling in Kurt’s stomach and creeping up his neck and into his cheeks.

“What, you’re just going to go find some random guy to make out with you? Take out an ad in the paper, maybe?"

“If that’s what it takes,” Puck said, like it was no big deal. Like they didn’t live in Lima, Ohio, land of the angry closet cases. Kurt’s head ached and he reached up to rub at his temples, then he sighed and looked at Puck again.

“You don’t have to do that,” Kurt said. “Not on my account, certainly. Just...can I have some time to think about it?”

Puck shrugged and looked away, like it didn’t really matter. That blank expression was back in place, but instead of thinking ‘dumb jock’ this time, Kurt thought he could see a hint of worry, just around the edges. For awhile they just stood there, Puck staring out the window as though he’d never seen a moonlit parking lot before, and Kurt staring at Puck’s profile and trying to decide how he’d never noticed the way Puck’s jaw clenched when he was nervous.

“Why do you taste like peppermint?” Puck said, and Kurt was so surprised by the question that he couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped his throat.

“It’s the hot cocoa.” He glanced down at the half-empty mug still clutched in his hand, then he carefully set it on the counter. “I think Tina made it.”

Puck looked at him for a beat or two, then he reached up and ran his thumb along the corner of his mouth, and Kurt blushed when he realized he was staring. “I like it.”

Before Kurt could pull himself together to answer Puck was gone, leaving him standing in front of the sink in Mr. Schuester’s kitchen, blushing and smiling to himself and thinking that maybe this wouldn’t be such a disappointing Christmas after all.


End file.
